


Hello Mistress

by bbgon



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, F/M, First Time, Masturbation, Other, Post-Episode: s10e12 The Doctor Falls, Post-Season/Series 10 Finale, Virgin Master
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbgon/pseuds/bbgon
Summary: The Master gets acquainted with her new body after regeneration. (Post 10x12 The Doctor Falls)“Wow,” she gasps. “At least I have something that’s bigger than the Doctor’s.”





	Hello Mistress

“This is amazing. So huge.” This regeneration was unexpected – the Master is still hazy on how it came about – and its result is even more surprising. She has spent the last half an hour in front of a mirror in his Tardis trying to get acquainted with her new body. The Master turns to admire her newly acquired profile. “Unbelievable. So big.” She turns to have a look from the other side. “It’s like a dream come true. If I got a small one again… Ugh.” 

She touches her perfectly sculpted nose with delight. His last body had a snub nose and a round face which looked pretty stupid on him – although he would never admit it to anyone. The Master touches the soft skin on her cheek. No stubble, no beard. She will miss it a little. He just recently decided to go old-school, and now she already has to give up his goatee. 

Her new eyes are huge, too. For some reason, she is wearing black eye-liner. Hmm, she cannot remember putting on any make-up, but this might be an effect of the post-regeneration amnesia. 

Her black hair falls on her shoulders in heavy waves. The Master lifts it up and rolls it in a bun, then lets it fall loose. He had a wife with long blond hair once. He used to catch it and roll it around his forearm, so that she couldn’t escape, could do nothing but whine and beg on her knees until he got bored. Long hair can be dangerous; the Master will have to think of something to get it out of the way. 

She must take a look at what’s underneath the clothes. His old attire is too large for her, she must have gotten smaller. “That’s unfair!” How much shorter than the Doctor can she get? It seems as if every time they met he grew taller and the Master shorter. 

The Master undresses quickly and drops the jacket, the pants and the shirt on the floor. 

“Wow,” she gasps. “At least I have something that’s bigger than the Doctor’s.”

She caresses her left breast with the fingers of her right hand, touches the dark nipple with a circle around it. It immediately hardens under her touch. That wife of his liked when he squeezed her breasts during intercourse. Such a human, monkey activity: senseless sweating, panting and banging of their bodies against each other. At first he thought he would avoid it, play the part of a loving fiancé and husband for the outside world only, but it never works that way. To play a role you have to live it, let it strike roots inside your mind and body, otherwise the monkey brains will perceive your insincerity. He had to engage in the intercourse fully, like the humans do, drop the reins and do it with abandon. Surprisingly, it turned out to be rewarding. 

The Master squeezes her breasts with both hands. Springy. “I’m a woman. I’m a woman!” She laughs. “I – am – a woman!” Her breasts lay heavy in her palms. She can even lift them to her lips and kiss her own nipple. She can touch her brand-new body all over, it’s all hers, all fresh and full of surprises and undiscovered places. 

But wait. What is she going to wear? She needs something flattering to show off her new riches. For the next time the Doctor sees her – she chuckles as she imagines the look on his face. He will not recognise her, he never does, but her new appearance offers so many untried camouflage options. No more fake beards, it’s time for something else – she pauses, a bit unsure. What’s her style going to be? The Master rushes to the clothes racks in her dressing room. 

Maybe a red dress? The wife had a red dress, he made her wear it every day, because she said once she felt like a sex doll in it. The Master looked up a sex doll and was excited by the idea; sometimes the human race amazed him with their ingenuity. And the high heels. The wife was visibly uncomfortable when he made her wear them for days; that was wonderful. The Master slips on the dress he finds on one of the hangers, but drops the heels: no point in torturing herself. She looks stunning in a dress though. Definitely better than the monkey wife. 

The plunging neckline reveals the cleavage. The Master fluffs up her breasts to make it more prominent. She has to find a bra to take care of it. The Master puts her leg forward and regards its shape in the slit which goes up to her hip. Delightful. She bends over and slides her palm up her leg to her thigh. She is not wearing any underwear, there was not time to find any yet. 

The hair down there is dark, thick and curly. She draws it apart with her fore and middle finger. The wife had a thing like that. It was moist and sensitive inside and she liked when he touched it gently. He did, in the beginning, when it was still important for his plan to play a tender husband. They waited for their wedding night to do it for the first time; the Master didn’t want to engage in any animal activities too early on, if he didn’t have to. He told his wife-to-be he was old-fashioned, and she bought it with increased admiration for him. Maybe he should have tried it out earlier, step by step, because the wedding night turned out to be overwhelming. The smells, the fluids, the difference in temperature – he was close to running away. He has never been that close to female flesh, never mind the human flesh before. By then the wife knew he was not human, but he had to erase her memories of that night anyway, it was too embarrassing. 

He got used to it afterwards. He learnt to show himself aroused, and then it started coming by itself, like a reflex, when the wife touched him, when she kissed him in public, when she put her hand on his fly, when she was naked. It was not completely new, the hardness, the throbbing, the nagging tension: he had a vague memory of his youth as the human professor Yana, when these sensations would happen to him, but he was too absorbed in his studies to pay much attention to them. Now he had to concentrate on them, and they were good. 

The Master draws a circle around the knobble which she remembers to be the most delicate part, according to her wife, and which she now has herself. She inhales sharply. It _is_ delicate indeed, so that her fingertips feel too coarse. She leaves it be and moves a bit further and deeper into the opening. Wet. The Master brings her hand to her lips and tastes the fingers. Wet means aroused. When the wife felt naughty, she would shove his hand under her chaste skirt and make him feel the moisture. There would be voices behind his unlocked office door, people waiting to see the Minister, and that would turn the wife on like nothing else. 

The Master returns her hand under the folds of her dress and goes deeper. Her freshly minted vagina opens up wider and takes in two, three fingers. There is no hardness, but the rest of the sensations are too familiar: the throbbing, the hot pulsation of blood. The tension demands to be relieved by touch, the Master learnt that well. She moves her fingers in and out listening to what her new body asks of her. 

Her reflection in the mirror shows glistening eyes and flushed cheeks. With the other hand, the Master slips the straps off her shoulders, and the dress slides off to the floor. She has to see herself without any distractions. Her breasts are heaving in rhythm with her breath. They are beautiful. I am beautiful, the Master thinks. Perfect. A woman. The mistress of the universe. 

Her legs start shaking. It’s hard to stay upright. She grabs the heavy mirror frame to lean on it. It’s not only her hand that is pushing in and out; inside her, her muscles are pulsating squeezing her fingers. She drops to her knees and presses her legs together, because that’s what her body wants, to make it all tight and snug and narrow. 

“Oh.” 

It is not just a fleeting moment of pleasure he had with the human. She keeps moving her hips, and it keeps coming in waves like an endless wash of the sea. It stretches on, turning her breathless and light-headed, until she is exhausted and empty. 

She relaxes, stretches out on the wooden floor and laughs. She and her new body feel like one from now on, as if they have reached a secret agreement on that floor a minute ago. It stopped being an unknown entity; she is in charge of it, she is the mistress. 

“Mistress,” she enunciates carefully. “This is it. I can’t be the Master now, can I?”

If feels right. 

An hour later, there is a heap of clothes scattered on the floor. The red dress was discarded in the end; it reminded her too much of the wife, that weak human female she cannot even remember the name of. The Mistress needs something more subtle and more practical; an outfit with lots of hiding places for her weaponry, not a slim-fitting piece of thin cloth. She goes through the drawers until she finds the cameo the Doctor gave her all those years ago and holds it up. The final piece she was missing. She fastens it to the collar of her buttoned-up blouse and smiles at her reflection.

“Hello, Mistress. Let’s have some fun.”


End file.
